


The Next Big Thing

by writingramblr



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1960's, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Credence Barebone Gets a Hug, First Kiss, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, New York City, Not Canon Compliant, Office Sex, Period-Typical Homophobia, Praise Kink, Rimming, Semi Slow Burn, Under-Desk Blow Jobs, Workaholic Original Percival Graves, boring office stuff, but not really, everyone smokes and drinks a lot, long haired credence bc yus, mad men crossover, mild sugar daddying, oblivious and besotted graves, slurs cut off midsentence, time skippage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-17 01:29:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10583583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingramblr/pseuds/writingramblr
Summary: Self proclaimed eternal bachelor Percival Graves has never allowed himself to be tempted into a workplace dalliance.Until now.





	1. New Hire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LucyBrown45](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LucyBrown45/gifts).
  * Inspired by [What do you Want if you Don't Want Gold](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10569150) by [LucyBrown45](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LucyBrown45/pseuds/LucyBrown45). 



> More of the Mad Men AU you didnt know you needed.  
> also lotsa smut.
> 
> big thanks to lucybrown45 for letting me adopt her idea and expand upon it.

* * *

 

 

Credence tried not to shake as he stood, waiting in the flawlessly decorated office of one of his future bosses, if the agency did decide to hire him. The carpet was plush beneath his worn shoes, and he wished he could slip them off to feel it between his toes, despite how rude that would be. He shuffled his feet again, trying not to remain in one place too long, wanting to avoid ruining the carpet by flattening it, as his sketches were clutched in his hands, he shifted slightly, he could feel the topmost one sticking to his sweaty palm, and he had a mild moment of panic, what if it made the ink run?

Before he could decide for or against setting the stack down, the door to the office slammed open, and he jumped, turning to face the man, the myth, the legend, Percival Graves. He was one fourth of the name power behind the agency of Shaw, Abernathy and Graves, but seemed to well on his way to take over if his father retired anytime soon.

“Mister Barebone, forgive me. I’m afraid most meetings around here tend to run long, or start late, or something like that.”

The scent of smoke from cigars and sharp tang of whiskey, mixed with something spicy like cologne, followed the man behind his desk and left Credence unmoored in its wake, as he moved forward, taking a careful seat in the small chair in front of it.

“No problem, not at all sir. I was just admiring your artwork collection.”

A boldfaced lie, and he regretted it the second it left his tongue, biting it didn’t help, nor pull the words back. 

The man chuckled, low and raspy,

“Please don’t ask me about them, my father picked them out, and threw them in here to be intimidating. Clearly it doesn’t work on you.”

Credence looked up to make proper eye contact with the man for the first time since he’d been waiting in his office and he had managed to avoid everyone else in the entire building except Tina, at least directly.

Dark hair was slicked back from a noble brow, with silver kissing the sides of his temples, brown eyes that could be cold or gentle, he supposed, depending on the situation, and a wry smile that drew in anyone’s attention.

Percival Graves was  _ dangerously _ handsome.

“Now, my father tells me he already looked over your portfolio, and it’s pretty much settled, you’ll start first thing Monday morning. Did you want to look over the contract for a few moments before signing it?”

Credence blinked rapidly, and nodded, words beyond ridiculously stuttered compliments about the cut of the man’s suit failed him, and the man grinned wider,

“Excellent choice. You wouldn’t believe how many copywriters I’ve had skim it and then act surprised they don’t have their choice of holiday off. We work all holidays. That’s when we make the most money anyway. Unless you have some sort of religious obligation… there’s a clause for that. Do you?”

Credence’s eyes jerked up from where he’d been focused on the man’s hands, flipping through documents, aligning them and pushing them to his side of the desk, before plucking up a pen and setting it primly atop the stack.

“What? Sorry?”

Mister Graves licked his lips and looked down and away for a moment, perhaps thinking about how best to remain tactful. But Credence was lost, drowning in thoughts of his own, thanks to the mere flickering image of the man’s mouth, slick and shiny from saliva.

God, he needed to get a grip.

“You’re not… Jewish or Catholic right? I know they have very strict, uh, worship schedules. I was under the impression you told my father you were not practicing.”

Credence heaved a breath,

“Oh, oh no sir, he was correct. I do not attend or ascribe to any faith.”

Mister Graves’ smile tightened,

“Good. That’s good to know. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. We have a pair of sisters who work here, lovely girls, they’re Jewish, and always on top of things. I wouldn’t have known honestly, if Tina hadn’t refused one of the dishes at our last employee potluck. God, that was months ago… we should do something like that again. Celebrate a full team renewal. Remind me, I know I’ll forget. It’ll get lost among the slogans and taglines.”

The man was still smiling, before dropping his eyes from Credence, turning away, and retrieving something from a nearby desk drawer.

A smooth silver cigarette case, and gold and black trimmed lighter.

Once again, he found himself hypnotized by the man’s hands, as he went through the motions of plucking out a cigarette, flicking on the lighter, and then taking a long drag, his dark gaze catching Credence before he could turn his focus on what he needed to, the paperwork.

“Would you like one?”

 

* * *

Percival was almost relieved that his father hadn’t mentioned the new production artist was a fresh out of water  _ boy  _ who had just barely graduated high school, with some kind of major talent that any other ad agency could have snapped up. Oh wait, he had said that. Over the lunch of oysters and martinis that were starting to become a routine for Friday afternoon. Ugh.

He had hated every second of it, unable to hold back from sprinting to the elevator to beat George back upstairs, and when he’d come upon the boy himself in his office, looking around with wide eyes and a fragile carrying of his body, like he felt too big for his bones, well, he was grateful for the booze in his system, helping relax him.

Sitting down as quickly as possible, he diverted his manic energy into gathering up the necessary papers, the contract of employment and a pen, but still, the boy was alluring.

Quiet, timid, and humble. He had no idea what he was.

A cigarette barely helped, and when offered to him, the boy declined, politely, soft spoken.

Percival finished his own in less than five minutes, a clear indication of how the day was going.

“Is there anything else?”

The boy, Credence, looked up at him, nearly catching him midway through a stare directed at his neck, and how the sweep of his dark hair kissed against his collarbones, slipping inside his shirt, and curling under his ears.

His hair was longer than most of the women’s in the office.

“No, thank you Barebone. You’re all set. I look forward to seeing what you’re made of.”

He bit his tongue, but it was too late. The compliment and encouragement for work came out sounding more like a suggestive quip.

Luckily, or unluckily, the boy didn’t seem to notice, much less be remotely aware of the effect he was having on Percival, and he nodded, getting to his feet rather hastily, ungraceful with a quivering of hands braced in front of his chest, before moving to retrieve his portfolio, which he at first suspected the boy might have thought he needed to leave with him, and then was backing away, reaching to grab the doorknob to leave the office, before he could draw breath again.

Percival leaned back in his chair and lit up another cigarette. He was still riding high on three martinis, but damn it all if he didn’t suddenly crave  _ another _ drink.

He was left alone with his thoughts only a moment, and then there was a buzzing on the intercom, informing him Tina Goldstein, the recently crowned copywriter, former secretary, was outside his door, then pushing it open, and glaring at him.

“Thank you Sera.”

He murmured, force of habit, he supposed, as he got to his feet to politely greet the brunette.

“Percy, why did the new production artist just walk out the front door? I didn’t recommend him for nothing. I thought his work was more than substantial.”

He raised his hands, before remembering the still smoldering cigarette butt, which he quickly discarded before resuming the position.

“Tina… we just finished signing the papers. We hired him. What are you talking about?”

“So why is he leaving?”

Percival blinked, before he realized she’d addressed him moments ago by his school nickname, and he decided he’d need to have a chat with his secretary about school chum secrets remaining in the past.

“He’s starting Monday, as all new employees do. The campaign we have going out on Monday morning is already complete, illustrated by your little friend, is it not?”

He cocked a brow at her, and lowered his hands, in favor of a fresh drag on the dwindling cigarette. Tina meanwhile had crossed her arms and had begun to tap her patent leather mary jane at him, 

“Don’t encourage idle gossip. There’s nothing going on between Mister Scamander and I.”

“Of course not.”

“Unless it’s true that your father is fucking your secretary.”

Percival nearly choked on his lungful of smoke, more surprised at the language than the suggestion,

“What? Who told you  _ that _ ?”

Tina just grinned,

“She mentioned in passing that she was seeing an older man. Forgive me, but George is the oldest still eligible man in the agency. I doubt she’s having an affair with Henry. At least, I hope not. You know his son is running for mayor?”

Percival couldn’t help making a face at that revelation, which was not in fact, new. He’d heard all about it from his father at lunch, and been extremely grateful the elderly Shaw wasn’t around to hear them both agree it was going to be worthwhile only for business reasons, as the man would become insufferable to be around if and indeed when his son did win the race.

It was already annoying enough to have his youngest son, Langdon, running around the copywriter circle, acting the part of self important intern, throwing out shit ideas half the time, with only Tina really brave enough to keep him in line. 

“Yes. But I don’t care.”

For a split second he thought Tina might actually smile, but then she was back to frowning.

“So is Credence going to be assigned to me, or will-”

“He’s going to have his own desk space. You won’t be babysitting him, don’t worry.”

“I should think not.”

He sat back down, and prayed she wouldn’t do the same.

“Was there something else?”

She stepped right up to his desk and leaned against it, reaching over to brazenly pull his cigarette out of his hands, 

“Yeah. I think you need to give Ulysses a memo. My sister is off limits. Anyone in this office, in the secretary pool, is out of his league.”

Percival blinked,

“Isn’t he married?”

Tina pursed her lips and then stubbed out the cigarette in the glass ashtray beside his intercom box.

“Since when has that stopped anyone from being a huge flirt?”

 

* * *

 

Credence was amazed when he arrived Monday morning and was directed into a small corner of the copy room, informed promptly by a young man who looked as if he needed a shave and also some extra nights sleep that it was his office, and to not hesitate to ask if he needed anything. He had introduced himself as ‘lead copy editor’ and when he vanished around a corner, there was someone stepping inside the room, with a cup of what had to be coffee in hand, and a wry smile on their face. The man was tall, slim, and had a mop of red hair falling down on side of his forehead, from beneath which green eyes sparkled at Credence.

“That’s Langdon by the way. In case his fancy title dazzled you too much. He’s actually ‘assistant to editor in chief and part time assistant copy writer’ but that’s much less impressive and a mouthful. I’m Newt by the way.”

The red haired man said all of that in the space of about thirty seconds, leaving Credence more than overwhelmed with what bit to respond to first, so instead, he merely accepted the man’s hand, and shook it lightly. 

“Credence. I mean,  _ I’m _ Credence.”

“Delighted to make your acquaintance. I think Tina mentioned you would be joining us last week.”

Credence could feel warmth bleeding into his cheeks, and he ducked his head, nodding.

“Yes. She’s been a great help.”

“She said you two met at church, is that right?”

“A long time ago, yes. I don’t go anymore.”

“She does of course. She’s a rare thing, a gem of a-”

“What are you doing? Scaring him off with your mad ramblings?”

A decidedly feminine voice broke into the conversation, and Credence looked over to find Tina herself striding into the room, looking much taller than when he’d last seen her. She wore a navy and silver skirt with a high collared black jacket, and her hair was sleek but not cut in a bob. It was shorter, almost like a man’s haircut, high above her ears, and barely swooping over her forehead.

It made her look professional, almost intimidating, but luckily, she smiled at Credence, and he relaxed at once.

“Hey. Welcome to the agency. Keep in mind that Newt calls the boys in charge Shag, and I didn’t get the joke until he explained it, then it made a lot of sense. He’s not talking about conquests.”

Credence frowned, and looked over to the redhead, who appeared embarrassed,

“Tina… do we really need to spill all our secrets on his first day?”

She came over to put her arm around Credence, and hugged him briefly, before shrugging at Newt,

“I don’t about you, but I need some of that before I do any writing today. Oh, you’ll join us for lunch, won’t you?”

Credence was still clutching his things, including a lunch box that was rapidly defrosting, but he nodded.

“If you don’t mind that I brought mine…”

“Psh, no. That’ll keep in the fridge for tomorrow. We’re going to the diner today. Have to cheer ourselves up at the start of the week somehow.”

He opened his mouth to protest he barely had enough money for the train, but Newt had already started talking about something else, overshadowing him.

 

It wasn’t until lunchtime came around that he remembered, he was supposed to scrounge up five dollars somehow, and he hadn’t the faintest. He supposed he could ask for an advance from one of the partners, but wouldn’t that be a quick and easy trip out the door, back to the soup kitchen?

He stood in the hallway for a moment, frozen with indecision, before he realized someone was speaking to him, talking to him like he was some kind of lost child. It was a strikingly beautiful woman with brown skin, and blond hair, like a movie starlet. 

“Did you need to see Mister Graves? He’s got time before his lunch meeting.”

Credence’s mouth opened to politely decline, until something, some mad urge propelled him forward, and made him nod, as he walked over to the man’s office door proper, and lifted his hand to knock, watching as the secretary buzzed a button on the intercom, to announce him, and then smiling slightly, giving him the go ahead to open the door.

Once inside, he was overwhelmed by the smell of tobacco, and indeed, there was a haze of smoke in the room, that he carefully waved aside, before pressing forward, still unsure what exactly he was going to say.

_ ‘Mister Graves, I need to borrow money.’ _

That just sounded ridiculous.

“Hello there, Barebone. How can I help you? Is your first day going well?”

Credence gulped, and pressed on, until he was nearly stumbling into the man’s desk, finding him staring back with languid expression, as he brought a cigarette to his lips, and leaned back in his chair.

“Y-yes sir. Thank you. I was wondering if you might be able to tell me when I could expect my first paycheck?”

His voice broke at the end of the sentence, and he winced internally.

One of Mister Graves’ heavy brows quirked, and Credence instantly wanted to take it all back.

“Already concerned with money, and you haven’t even drawn a single ad for us yet.”

His hands wrung together and he dropped his eyes to the soft carpet, wishing he could melt into it.

“I’m sorry sir, I just, I was invited to lunch, but I haven’t any way to pay for it, and I didn’t know how to say no, I didn’t want to be rude…”

“So you decided to come to me, and attempt to work out a solution?”

The man didn’t sound angry at all, merely amused, and when Credence dared to chance a look at him, he found a smile curving the man’s lips.

“Yes?”

“I’m quite certain if it’s who I  _ think _ it is, you won’t need to worry. She’ll take care of you. In case she doesn’t, give her this.”

Credence nearly gasped as the man got to his feet, reached into a pants pocket to produce a gleaming money clip, and slid a crisp twenty dollar bill out from a slim stack, before holding it out to him, with an expression that seemed to urge him not to say no to that.

“Consider it on me. A  _ welcome to the team _ gesture.”

Credence had never seen so much money in his entire life, and when the man pressed it to his palm, he thought he could feel a spark shooting down his spine.

“Th-thank you sir. I don’t know what to say.”

“‘ _ Thank you _ ’ is more than sufficient. Now run along, make sure you get enough to eat so you can work good and hard for us until six.”

If he didn’t know better, he’d have said the man winked at him, and then was returning behind his desk, to pick up his cigarette again, before resuming reading the files in front of him. Credence tried not to run out of the office, but barely restrained himself to a brisk walk.

All throughout lunch with Newt and Tina, the only thing he could focus on, besides eating his tuna fish sandwich without choking, was how  _ easily _ Mister Graves had just handed him the bill. His ma would have said that it was like accepting gifts from the devil, there would always be a cost to be collected later, but he knew, that of course, the man would simply deduct it from his first paycheck, and that would be all that would be needed.

He did end up staying until the sun had long since set, working with Newt, following his suggestions and trying out a new kind of graphite for the sketched ad needed by next Wednesday.

Tina was not in charge of the copy writing for it, but she did relent and say that she wouldn’t have been the best person to do it anyway, considering it was a man’s product.

Shaving cream.

Although, Credence wondered, since ladies sometimes used razors for their legs, would it not make sense to market the cream to them as well?

He was rather ashamed to ask, as mentioning such things might come off as crass or rude, but he had never known a lady to wear pantyhose over unshaved legs. 

When he was ushered out of the office by Tina, urging him to the elevator, telling him for dinner tomorrow night he was to join her and her sister Queenie at their house, if he liked, he noticed that Mister Graves’ door was shut, but there was light glowing from beneath the edge.

So he stayed, later than everyone else. 

Credence wondered what the other partners were like, as he’d only been introduced to Mister Graves, but Tina told him that soon enough, the others would make the rounds, and he’d be able to attend a meeting with them all as well.

 

Throughout dinner at the Goldsteins, Queenie asked after Jacob a few times, and Credence couldn’t help noticing the fondness in her tone when he would answer her questions. Tina gave him a knowing glance, and then would pretend she’d done no such thing if he sister asked after it. Of course, any mention of Newt by Credence would lead to Tina then blushing slightly, and Queenie prying about that. 

It was the way they teased each other that told Credence how much they actually cared. It was, sweet. He wished he’d had the same sort of easy relationship with his adopted sisters. By the time he was being sent home with an armful of leftovers, and a note for Jacob from Queenie, he was full and content, not nervous at all about the first meeting that was now only a weekend away.

 

* * *

Wednesday, to Percival it barely counted as anything but a way to finally be grateful half the wretched week was over, and the time to start drinking with lunch had arrived. He was highly tempted to just have his morning coffee irish, but he needed to be alert for the client meeting at noon, where they would unveil the finished ad for Johnson & Johnson. The only problem would be having to sit in the same room with his smug father and the rest of the gang. He couldn’t wait until the season had ended, the mayoral race was through, and Henry Shaw Senior would finally shut the hell up.

The fact of the matter was, he’d been a registered democrat almost since college, and that wasn’t about to change, not even for a business partner’s spawn.

His father had no idea, and he really wanted to keep it that way.

As he walked into the conference room, he nearly rolled his eyes at the fact somehow, the man had gotten his son to join him at work, at least for the lunch hour, and he was shaking hands and making those ridiculous catchphrases a team of writers had made for him sound like his own. 

Henry Shaw Junior was the most pretentious graduate Ivy League had ever spat out, and now he would only get worse.

Percival took his seat among the chattering people, and couldn’t help noticing the only other person not standing was the Barebone boy.

Likely his first meeting of anything of the sort, and he looked a bit like a deer in the headlights. Lucky for him, Scamander would be presenting the visual piece, while Percival unveiled the slogan that Abernathy’s chosen writer had come up with.

He could only hope for a swift end, so he could sneak out and order his lunch to be taken in his office, along with a blessed relief of a drink.

When people finally began to sit down and shut up, he rose from his seat, and took center stage, meeting his father’s gaze before turning on the charm for the clients, as usual.

Throughout his spiel, he kept finding his eyes were wandering over to Barebone, who was taking notes religiously, and scribbling almost too fast to be of any use. It made him smile, and when he returned to an overall scan of the room, he noticed the younger Shaw was eyeing him.

They had technically been in the same high school class, but rarely ever spoken. While he’d taken sports mainly, along with his academics, Shaw had chosen politics early on, going after class president and senior valedictorian with equal fervor.

His good looks had served him well, as did Percival’s, in his own chosen career path, but slightly less so. No one cared what he looked like as long as he brought continued business to the agency, but it sure helped when schmoozing clients, if their wives were as engaged in the conversations.

Whenever the question of matrimony was turned on him, he always wove a perfect tale, of how he just hadn’t found the right woman yet, or how he hoped to run into his college sweetheart someday while traveling the world, for work of course, but they were all lies.

There was a grain of truth in it all, and that was why he could tell it so convincingly. He  _ hadn’t _ met the right person at all, and he’d never been entranced or fallen for any woman. Because he wasn’t attracted to women.

Not even Sera’s flawless skin and bewitching smile could sway him, much less Tina’s razor wit and effortless beauty.

He’d certainly tried, many many times while at school, but not once had he felt anything inside himself beyond boredom when out at dinner or a show with a woman on his arm.

He couldn’t imagine how he would express himself, when he would have to, at his father’s deathbed, with reasons as to why he couldn’t ever provide grandchildren to carry on the family name, why the Graves line would die with him. It was too frightful to consider.

So for the time being, he helped the rumors of his philandering continue, and he always went out on Saturday’s with a different destination in mind, not caring who witnessed his supposed dalliances. 

By the time the clients were on their feet, shaking hands with the four of the partners, Percival was mentally and physically exhausted, nearly shuffling out of the room and slinking back to his office, before remembering he needed a fresh mug to hide the evidence of his early drinking in. He told Sera where he’d prefer his sandwich ordered from, and continued on to the break room to hunt down a suitable cup.

Instead of finding secretaries milling about, or the exact opposite, an abandoned room, he came upon Barebone, surrounded by Abernathy and the Shaw brothers. He made to push by them, and grunt out a greeting he didn’t mean, when he noticed that there were papers scattered on the floor, and the elderly Shaw, the one  _ running for Mayor _ , was shoving a hand into Barebone’s shoulder, throwing him off balance.

“Why don’t you watch where you’re going there, fa-”

Right before he could stumble into the counter and possibly bruise an elbow, Percival swooped in and caught him with a hand to his lower back, and a fake smile pasted on his face.

“Careful there. Gentlemen. Where do you plan to go for lunch Henry? I was just about to go visit your father.”

He met Henry Junior’s eye with steel in his own gaze, and found only coldness echoed back at him. Whereas Abernathy seemed to pout, Langdon was refusing to meet his gaze, and Barebone was stuttering apologies, then leaning down to scoop up his sketches.

“My father and I were thinking of the Plaza. It’s Langdon’s birthday you know. You only turn twenty-one once, after all.”

Henry’s voice was unpleasantly syrupy, as if he hadn’t just been caught on the verge of bullying a poor scrap of nothing, and Percival stared back unblinkingly, ignoring the way Barebone was watching wide eyed from the floor, still absorbed in his task.

“How wonderful. I hope you have a pleasant afternoon, and I won’t expect your father back. Come now Ulysses, won’t you join me for a cigarette? I need to discuss the Lucky Strike account with you.”

The shorter man was spluttering, but Percival smiled tightly, and took him firmly by the elbow, moving towards the hall, wishing he could be gripping his temples instead, where a pounding headache was flaring angrily to life.

Barebone scurried past them, and vanished into the copywriter office, once out of sight, Percival let go of Abernathy, and resisted the urge to wipe his hand off on his shirt.

“What’s this about, your father is the one managing Lucky Strike…”

“Why were you giving the new production artist such a hard time, hmm?”

He leveled a stare at the shorter man, who actually turned pink.

“He asked to meet Henry, so I said sure, and introduced them. He got so nervous that he dropped his shit.”

“Mhm, I see. Well, I think Langdon needs to remember that he’s not untouchable, though he may think he is, ‘Graves’ is still _ half  _ of this company.”

“The kid means well.”

“I don’t care. He’s a nuisance. Also, stop pestering Queenie. She’s not interested in being your next mistress.”

Abernathy gaped at him, and Percival swore he heard him muttering something about how it was none of his business.

“It’s my business when you threaten to take away one of our best secretaries.”

He slammed his office door shut so hard it made him wince, but it meant no further whining from the man and he could just use a damn glass for his mid afternoon whiskey. Fuck pretending that he wasn’t a lush.

Somewhere around his third glass, and half the sandwich he’d gotten brought in, the intercom buzzed, and he realized it was almost five in the afternoon.

“Yes?”

“Mister Barebone to see you.”

“Send him in. Thank you Sera, you’re welcome to go home.”

“Good evening Mister Graves.”

Her cool tones answered as the door opened, and Percival looked up to find Barebone walking in, looking a bit nervous. Then again, he always looked that way. As if he expected to be slapped, or yelled at.

Shame on Shaw for meeting his expectations, and being unjustly cruel.

“Mister Graves… I just wanted to thank you for earlier. I don’t know if…”

“Whatever happened, I’m happy to help. If you feel there was something that would make you uncomfortable about working around either Abernathy or young Mister Shaw, please tell me.”

A blush bloomed to life rapidly atop the boy’s shark cheekbones, and he shook his head, ducking down to hide behind the long mane of black waves that usually remained tucked behind his ears.

“Oh… no sir, just my clumsiness getting the best of me.”

“Is that really true?”

Percival got up from his desk, somewhat reluctantly, as his footing was less sure than when he was sober, but ambled over to the boy, trying to present a supportive front.

“Sir, I don’t want any trouble…”

Barebone trailed off as Percival reached his side, and put a finger under his chin, forcing him up to meet his gaze.

It was unfair really, how long his eyelashes were, how red his lips were, from his teeth worrying them no doubt, and his eyes, dark and liquid, finally focused on him.

“Just say the word, and I’ll ensure it never happens again.”

He got lost, staring at the boy, and his thumb rubbed over the smooth skin of his cheek, down to graze his bottom lip, and he didn’t know when he’d gotten so close.

He could smell the clean fresh scent of the boy’s soap, and he wondered what product he used on his face, to achieve such a close shave. Or maybe he didn’t have to? How old was he again?

“Mister Graves…?”

Percival dropped his hand like he’d been burned, and cleared his throat, striding back around his desk, and shifting over to grab his cigarette case, lighting on up as fast as he could with shaky hands.

“Like I said, if they give you a hard time, just let me know.”

Barebone nodded, looking a bit dazed, as if he’d been punched in the gut, rather than caressed like a swath of fabric.

“Thank you sir.”

“Was there something else you needed?”

The clock was ticking away, reading a quarter until six, and Percival didn’t remember why he was even still there.

“No sir. Goodnight sir.”

“Yes, same to you.”

He murmured, absentmindedly, but very hyper aware as Barebone turned to go, his eyes almost instantly landed at the boy’s back, where he’d caught him, and then slid down, to eye the way his pants smoothed over a pert behind.

Fuck.

If Queenie was off limits for Abernathy, Barebone was doubly so for him.

The snap of the door closing yanked him out of his forbidden thoughts, and he bit back a groan, letting his head fall into his empty hand, as his cigarette smoldered, half smoked, in his other one.

 

* * *

Credence hadn’t slept well in days. The evening after he’d been cornered by the future mayor and his brother kept coming back to haunt him. It wasn’t even the Shaw’s that he couldn’t stop thinking about, it was Mister Graves.

How he’d looked as he’d said he could help, the way he’d sounded, determined, and yet still gentle. When he’d moved so near that Credence was drowning in the scent of whiskey and cologne, he’d been half scared that he was about to kiss him, or maybe laugh in his face, and tell him he was fired.

After all, Shaw had recognized him for what he was, without even completely saying the word, and he’d been prepared to hurt him for that. 

It was why he’d ended up where he was, needing work, and almost broke, but for the kind aid of the Goldstein’s. They’d refused to allow him to stay with his cruel guardian, and Queenie had been the one to help him find a roommate in Jacob Kowalski. So he’d lived there, and helped earn his keep by cleaning that apartment and others in the building, along with scrimping and saving by eating most meals at the soup kitchen, or stale leftovers Jacob brought home from his work, a wonderful bustling bakery, and he’d been okay.

But his art was what he’d always wanted to do, and at Tina’s suggestion, after a few months of living with Mister Kowalski, he’d ended up at the agency. It was all a matter of luck.

Naturally, it was also just his luck that his boss, or, one fourth of his bosses technically, happened to be so incredible. It was rude of his brain to decide to give him inappropriate, albeit pleasant, dreams about the man. Every time he passed Mister Graves in the hallway that week he blushed and stared at his feet, until Tina asked him if he wasn’t feeling well, considering how much time of the day he spent pink in the face.

“Oh yes, I’m quite all right, thank you.”

By the time it was time for another ad campaign and he was aiding Newt with the designs, he could barely hold a pencil straight.

“What’s wrong ol chap?”

Newt was teasing him, exaggeratingly addressing him as such, and Credence stifled a yawn before replying,

“Nothing, nothing.”

“Don’t bother lying to me. Unlike Tina, I can actually sense when I’m being told the truth or not. Your body has tells. They give you away.”

Credence gulped, and then dropped the pencil, bringing a hand to rub his eyes,

“I’m sorry Newt. I just haven’t been sleeping well. I know my work is suffering because of it.”

“Not terribly. But it would help if you could make eye contact during the presentation tomorrow.”

“Oh… yes. Sorry.”

Credence bit his lip, and then looked over at the red haired man, wondering if he should say anything, beyond the usual polite conversation topics.

“Have you ever been unsure of how to pay someone back, though they say you don’t owe them?”

Newt frowned slightly, and scribbled something on his sketchbook,

“Do you mean like a favor?”

Credence had to think for a minute, lost in a daze, almost falling asleep resting on his hand,

“Mmm, yeah maybe.”

“When the time is right, you’ll be able to pay them back, and just make sure they don’t realize it.”

Newt smiled dreamily, and then went back to drawing, leaving Credence to his sleepy thoughts. He was right of course, but the question was, what could he get for Mister Graves? A small trinket, or maybe a nice bottle of cologne? What if he deemed it improper? 

That night he was kept up by his musings, and in the morning, couldn’t remember his dreams, but he did feel better, and when Jacob gave him an extra pastry to take with his lunch, he knew exactly what to do with it.

The meeting was at noon, and it flew by, without incident, because Newt had volunteered to present the artboards again, letting Credence remain silent in the corner, allowed to observe. Next to Mister Graves, Newt was taller, but much less broad. The cuts of their suits were very different as well, and Credence wondered what a suit for him would be like, if he could afford it someday. 

He did manage to get a handshake from one of the clients, and thought he caught Mister Graves smiling at him for a moment.

When he went straight to the lunchroom to retrieve his box and the pastry in a bag, he almost tripped over Tina who was stooping to pull a fresh coffee filter out for the machine.

“Whoa, slow down there. Where are you heading in such a rush?”

Credence blinked, the lie coming easily to him,

“Just hungry. Sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

“It’s fine. Don’t let me keep you.” She gave him a smile, and stepped out of his way, so he could get to the fridge. Once he had the items in hand, he continued on to Mister Graves’ office, prepared to ask the lady out front, Sera, he remembered, to check if the man was free, but he found the door ajar, and he could see the man himself inside, pouring a drink, with no food in sight.

The man’s secretary was nowhere to be seen, so he moved closer, tentative, careful, before reaching out to knock against the open door.

“Mister Graves? Do you have a moment?”

The man turned to look at him, and a slow smile curved over his mouth, making Credence’s heart skip a few beats.

“Barebone! Of course. Come on in. Sera’s run off to lunch. Abandoned me. I suppose you’ve come to inform me you need to do the same?”

Credence shook his head, holding up the bag,

“Not at all sir. In fact… I wonder, if I might join you for lunch? I brought something for you.”

Mister Graves paused with his glass halfway to his lips, before eyeing the bag, and then Credence’s other hand, gripping his lunchbox.

“Is that so? How thoughtful of you. I’d be a fool to say no, considering I’ve packed no lunch for myself.”

Mister Graves swept around him, still holding his glass, urging him to sit, as he moved to close his office door. Something about the gesture made Credence’s skin tingle, and his throat go dry.

He needed a drink too.

“Sir, do you have water?”

He finally asked, when the man had returned to sit behind his desk, facing Credence properly.

“Certainly. It’s not tap, but it’s soda water. Will that do? Did you want it mixed with anything? You’ve certainly earned it. Two accounts renewed in less than a month, your art is enchanting.”

He blinked at the man, who was already rising to his feet again, stepping towards the fridge in the corner, and Credence was unsure what to say. To decline would be impolite, to accept would be… it was barely two in the afternoon, surely he couldn’t have alcohol at that hour?

“I can almost see the concern on your face, Barebone. Not to worry. I won’t tell anyone. But don’t think your friend Miss Goldstein is innocent. She has a bottle of vermouth in her desk.”

Credence opened his mouth to protest he was assuming no such thing, but Mister Graves chuckled, and he realized it had been a joke.

“Just the soda water for me please.”

“Very well.”

Now settled, once and for all, Credence peeled open the bag, and looked inside to ensure nothing had melted or been squashed, before passing it over to the man,

“Here. Consider it a returning of the favor. You bought me lunch, so my roommate made yours.”

Mister Graves accepted the bag graciously, and took a peek inside before smiling,

“Credence, there’s no need for you to do such a thing, but I greatly appreciate it.”

He shook his head,

“No sir, I think there is. You see, there’s been a mistake, that money was never deducted from my paycheck. You must have forgotten to note it with the accounting department.”

Credence held the man’s gaze as he looked up from the pastry, and found that Mister Graves’ eyes seemed even darker than usual.

“There was no mistake. I never intended to dock your wages. It was a gift. Sometime, in your life, I’m certain you’ll come across someone who doesn’t know where their next meal is coming from. I certainly don’t fall into that category, so I don’t consider this necessary. But it is very sweet of you.”

Sweet?

Using his first name?

Mister Graves was looking at him strangely, and Credence felt as if his skin was too tight for his body, as if it was itching to get away from him.

“Mister Graves, sir, why would you do that for me? Twenty dollars… is three meals worth. Or more.”

The man took a slow sip of his whiskey, before twirling what remained thoughtfully, eyes zeroed in on Credence’s hand, still gripping his lunchbox.

“Does it bother you? Did you want to ask for a raise? So that you can pay me back in cash?”

Credence bit the inside of his cheek,

“I didn’t spend any of it sir. I still have it. Newt bought my lunch that day.”

He put his hand to his breast pocket, an inner lining to his jacket meant to hold a wallet, and withdrew the bill, still crisp, and green, obscenely marked with the bold number.

“Oh. I see. Well I’ll certainly take it off your hands if you don’t want to keep carrying it around.”

Credence blinked, and the man was setting his glass down, and moving around the side of the desk, looming over where he sat, a strong and sudden presence. 

Mister Graves leaned a hip against the wood of the desk, and cocked a brow at Credence, holding out his hand, palm upwards.

“Well?”

Credence swallowed thickly, and then reached over to set the bill into his hand, mimicking the way he’d originally received it, weeks back.

“Thank you.”

Mister Graves didn’t let go of his hand though, he curled his fingers around his wrist, and was pulling him, tugging him to his feet, a move so swift that it had Credence nearly crashing against his chest from the change in momentum.

“Sir, what-?”

“Tell me to stop.”

Mister Graves was close, so close, his breath warm on Credence’s neck, as he half fought dueling urges to lean in, and pull away, his legs tangled with the man’s, nearly falling into his arms.

“Stop what?”

“This.”

A slow warm press, and Credence’s eyes widened with the realization, that the man  _ was _ kissing him, surprising him with the intimate touch, as he could feel the man’s thumb rubbing the inside of his wrist, fingers gentling, allowing him to move away if he wanted to.

He didn’t.

He brought both of his hands up to grasp Mister Graves’ jacket lapels, and pressed closer, kissing back with an unskilled fervor he didn’t know he possessed.

Strong arms encircled him, keeping him where he was, which was straddling one of the man’s thighs, as they both leaned onto the desk, Mister Graves tilted his head slightly, parting his lips to allow his tongue to graze against Credence’s bottom lip, and he sighed, opening his mouth to let the man deepen the kiss.

He felt as if he was seconds from bursting into flames, and if the man didn’t start moving his hands, he’d rip his own clothing off.

Already his hips were disobeying his brain’s orders, mindlessly making little thrusts against Mister Graves’ thigh, hopelessly seeking out friction, something more so than what his underwear and pants could provide to his cock.

“You haven’t said a word, are you okay?”

Mister Graves broke the kiss, dragging his lips along Credence’s jaw line, kissing and touching and licking places no one else had ever explored, and he could have drowned in the sensory overload. 

“Yes, yes, I’m great.”

Mister Graves’ throaty chuckle vibrated through his entire body, sending further waves of heat down his spine, even as the man’s broad palms moved down his back, one bracing on a hip, the other splaying over his cloth covered backside.

“You’re better than that, you’re breathtaking. If I didn’t have a conference call in ten minutes, I’d make you come right here.”

Credence shivered at the words, but deflated slightly at the knowledge it had to stop, the bliss had to end, and reality, the cold and cruel world, returned in an instant.

He still hadn’t touched his lunch.

Mister Graves straightened his jacket, where Credence had clung to him, putting a few wrinkles in it, and brushed a hand down over his pants, subtly adjusting himself.

“Thank you for the pastry Barebone. I’ll be eager to hear about your next project.”

A wink, definitely that time, and then Credence was walking out of his office, still holding his lunchbox, in a daze.


	2. Special Instructions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yay teh smut

 

Percival was in so much trouble. He’d molested the boy, taken advantage of him, all for twenty fucking dollars. Why hadn’t he just forced the boy to keep the money?

_ Because then he’d be trying to pay you back with things other than food. _

How many blowjobs did a twenty buy?

He didn’t know. He hadn’t had a rentboy in years. He’d been too afraid, to stuck in his ways to bother going on the lookout for someone to pay for sex from.

He also hadn’t planned on accidentally outing himself to the newest employee at the agency, but well, too late to pretend he’d been staring at someone else’s ass and thinking of Sera while he kissed the boy. Far, far too late. He was almost sick with worry over the weekend, and half scared to walk into work monday and find out  _ he’d _ been fired.

Everything looked the same, looked normal, and Sera smiled at him when he moved towards his office. Every pencil was in place, and there was no more papers than usual in his ‘inbox.’ It wasn’t until he walked around to his desk that he noticed something was off. There was someone bending over, under his desk, Barebone was then shuffling back and emerging, pink cheeked and wide eyed.

“Mister Graves, sir! I’m sorry. I knocked over your paperweight, and I wanted to put your card under it, but…”

Percival groaned. It was bad enough having to walk in and find that sight for sore eyes, and also randy ones, but the fact that Sera had spread around his birth date, or his father had let it slip, was even worse.

“You didn’t… you went out and spent your hard earned money on a card?”

Barebone got to his feet, stood up tall, and beamed at him, holding out an envelope which appeared almost… empty.

“I didn’t. But I said that I did so I could surprise you. Happy birthday sir.”

Percival was frozen, stock still, as Barebone leaned in close and pecked him on the cheek, before glancing at the door, which he’d closed, automatic almost, force of habit, before he felt a hand dipping below his jacket hem, fingers grazing over his waistband, ripping a gasp from his throat.

“What are you doing?”

“I didn’t spend money on you sir. I wanted to give you something more substantial.”

Barebone was now definitively rubbing the heel of his palm over Percival’s rapidly thickening cock, and he thought that just once,  _ he _ could be late for a meeting, if it meant a hand job from such a pretty and willing gift giver.

“But…”

“Do you not want me to?”

The hand stopped moving, and lifted back up to brush over his lapels, as Barebone lurched backwards, and took a good step away in retreat,

“I can go. I do have work to do, if you don’t want…”

Percival finally moved, springing into action to put a hand to Barebone’s neck, gently nudging him close again, only to kiss him fiercely, before breaking it to murmur low against the boy’s neck,

“I want it very much, thank you. Why don’t you get on your knees?”

It was a gamble. He wasn’t sure if Barebone would insist on only using his hands, if he knew anything about what to do with a cock in his mouth, but the boy was already nodding, doing as he was told, and then looking up at Percival with those dark liquid eyes, awaiting the next request.

It had been unintentional, but Percival thought somewhere deep down, he’d imagined and dreamed about that very thing, when he’d watched Barebone picking up his scattered sketch pages from the break room floor.

“What do you want me to do?”

Both of the boy’s palms were bracing over his thighs, fingers teasing at his waistband, but suddenly Percival knew that once he started, and his knees gave out, it would be much easier if he was already sitting down.

“Hold on.”

He walked over behind his desk, and took a seat, before patting a hand on his knee, 

“Come here.”

Barebone might not have known how alluring it was to watch as he crawled over to him, but Percival doubted he’d forget it as long as he lived. The boy tucked a stray dark wave back behind his ear, before leaning in close and rubbing his cheek against Percival’s inner thigh, skin burning through the fabric, tightening slightly over his aching cock.

“Can I touch you?”

“Please do.”

Barebone reached up to begin undoing his belt, the clink of the buckle startling him in what had been a completely silent moment, snapping the tension. When fingers brushed against his cock, even through the fabric of his underwear, he couldn’t help how his hips bucked into it.

“Fuck, sorry.”

Barebone’s eyes were wide, even before he had a handful of Percival’s cock,

“What did I do wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing at all. You’re just so lovely. I’ve been thinking about these lips on my cock for, uh, far too long than is appropriate.”

Percival couldn’t help stroking the boy’s cheek, dragging a thumb over the plushness of his bottom lip, and catching the way his sharp cheekbones flushed.

“I’ve been dreaming of it.”

That little revelation demanded expanding upon, but the second Barebone’s hand actually wrapped around his length, all rational thought went out the window, and his head fell back against the chair, as he fought to control his breathing, to recite statistics, anything to keep from coming immediately at the first touch of the boy’s mouth over him.

Hot and wet and surprisingly skilled for having no experience giving anyone a blowjob, a crime in and of itself, but it did help Percival’s minor wave of jealousy to be quelled, the boy’s tongue swept over the sensitive head of his cock, and threatened to make him lose control.

When the boy put a hand to stroke over what he couldn’t fit in his mouth, Percival couldn’t help reaching down to touch the boy’s hair, fingers carding through it, not wanting to grip too tightly, and Barebone fucking  _ hummed _ around his cock.

The second he pulled back to focus on swirling his tongue against his slit, and his cheeks hollowed, Percival lost it.

He thrust his hips, and probably made the boy gag, but he couldn’t hold back, he was coming, pulses of creamy spend making a mess of the boy’s face as he desperately gasped and kept stroking Percival, not seeming to care how he looked.

“Holy fucking hell.”

He managed to sigh, and Barebone smiled shakily, somehow looking at him like he’d hung the moon.

“It was okay?”

“More than. Here… let me clean you up.”

He plucked a few tissues from the box tucked into his desk, and carefully wiped off the boy’s face, before glancing down to ensure none of his come was on his clothing or shoes.

“Thank you.”

“No, thank  _ you _ . What about you, do you want to climb on my desk, or get in my lap, let me take care of…”

Barebone shook his head, smiling still,

“No need. I uh, finished already.”

Percival’s eyes returned to the front of his pants, and since the boy was wearing black, he couldn’t spot anything out of the ordinary, but he saw no unsightly bulge.

“Oh.”

“I mean, I could probably go again at lunchtime. If you want.”

Percival fairly growled out a confirmation, tugging the boy up to his feet to pull him in for a kiss, tasting himself on the boy’s tongue.

“Yes, yes, please.”

Barebone shivered, and braced himself against Percival’s chest with his hands on his shoulders,

“Okay.”

He couldn’t stop smiling, and neither could Percival. It was like they’d both swallowed hangers.

“Work, remember?” 

Percival finally said, shattering the silence, and the boy nodded again.

“I should… go.”

“See you later.”

“Yes.”

 

* * *

 

The elections meant more alcohol and cigarettes were sold and bought to celebrate, and the new business that the agency gained was now on track to be friends of a friend of the Mayor of New York, but all Credence could think about was moving out of Jacob’s place, that’s what it was, not really his own at all, and getting somewhere on his own that he could host Mister Graves at. He wanted to cook him dinner, to watch the news on a tv, with the man beside him on the couch, and be carried off to bed, to wake up beside him and kiss him good morning, and shower with him and get ready for work at a marble sink next to him…

“Credence! Hey, I’ve been calling you for like five minutes. Mister Graves needs to see the new boards for Kellogg's.”

Newt broke through the fog of domestic fantasies overwhelming Credence’s imagination, and he blushed before nodding, and leaping out of his seat, scrambling to scoop up the correct storyboards and find the proper markers.

“Okay, thank you.”

It wasn’t until he was standing outside the man’s office that he realized Newt could have done it himself, and didn’t even need him, he was still just a production artist, not the final say at all.

“Mister Graves will see you now.”

Sera chirped at him, and he blinked, finding the office door wide open, with the man himself standing off to the right, smiling slightly.

“Thank you.”

Walking into the man’s office, his gaze zeroed in on a small stack of bills on Mister Graves’ desk, and he jumped as he heard the door click closed behind him.

“What’s this?”

“I wanted to see the designs. But I thought I’d pay you for your time. It’s the same twenty dollars you see. But individually.”

Mister Graves was smirking at him now, and Credence felt the same itch on his skin he always did, when waking from a particularly nice dream, or thinking about how wonderful it had been to feel the man’s cock in his mouth for his birthday.

“You want… me to earn the money?”

When the man approached him, he felt rather like he was being stalked, but only with the intent to be captured by the most sensual of predators. Mister Graves’ hands slid around his back, pulling him flush to the man’s front, where he could feel his cock hardening against his waist.

“Yes. Does that sound fun?”

“Maybe. What happens when I earn all the money?”

“Then you can buy me dinner sometime.”

Mister Graves’ mouth was hot and wet below his ear, at the place on his neck where a mark would show, brazenly and whorish, revealing that  _ someone _ had ravished him.

But Credence didn’t want to stop him, he’d just borrow one of Newt’s scarves if he needed to, oh, he would.

Mister Graves’ hands squeezed a palmful of his backside in each, before he was letting go, retreating and leaving Credence trembling and with a whimper crawling up his throat.

“Now. The first dollar will be yours, if you can name every partner in the agency.”

Credence almost rolled his eyes. That wasn’t a hard question.

“Henry Shaw, George Graves, Ulysses Abernathy, and Percival Graves.”

The man grinned, and patted his lap, for he had returned to perch on his desk, sitting halfway on it.

“Good job.”

Credence stepped in between the man’s legs, and tried to lean in for a kiss, but Mister Graves shook his head, and clicked his tongue, somehow tucking a dollar bill into his pocket without him noticing. But he could feel the starchy crispness of the paper when he shifted back on his heels, eyeing the man’s bulge.

“Next, tell me how you could say my first name there, but you’ve never addressed me by it before?”

Credence gaped at him, and Mister Graves cocked a brow, three bills folded and held up in his hand.

“I… I don’t know sir.”

He sighed, and beckoned Credence closer with his other hand, before stuffing the bills into his other pocket, inside his jacket, right by his heart.

“You’re too polite, my boy. What if I told you to kneel, and suck me off right now, for five dollars, would you?”

“Is that the going rate, sir?”

Mister Graves put a hand to his jaw, and forced him to look right at him,

“It’s whatever I say it is, isn’t that right? Disagreeing would be rude.”

Credence knew exactly what the man was doing, he was trying to bend him, to make him break his rules, and snap at him to tell him he didn’t want any of that.

But the fact was, he  _ wanted _ Mister Graves. _ Any  _ way he could get him.

He smiled, and started to drop to his knees, staring at the man the whole way, until he was braced with his hands rubbing atop the man’s thighs, and he licked his lips.

“Whatever you want, sir.”

Mister Graves eyed him a moment, then swept his hand over, knocking the rest of the ones onto the floor at Credence’s feet.

“You. That’s it. I want you, bent over my desk, sobbing my name, unable to remember your own.”

Credence thought he could feel his cock leaking against his underwear at the man’s words.

“What are you going to do to me,  _ sir _ ?”

“Take you apart with my mouth. Maybe a couple fingers too.”

Credence’s jaw dropped,

“How sir?”

Mister Graves chuckled,

“Has no one ever told you about such a thing?”

He shook his head so hard it made his vision blur.

“Come on, up, up. Take off your pants.”

Normally such a request, while the sun was still up, would have made him balk, but it was Mister Graves asking him, looking fit to devour him any second, so he did it, carefully arranging his pants to be folded atop his shoes, set off to the side, before returning to stand in front of the man, his cock hard and shamefully curving up against his stomach between the two halves of his shirt, which he’d undone a few bottom buttons for, and loosened his tie.

“Beautiful. Go on, lean over the desk, kiss the wood.”

Mister Graves was still perched atop it, so Credence moved to rest against his thigh, letting his cock rub into the fabric, not a completely unpleasant feeling.

“Like this?” He felt breathless, as if he’d just climbed a flight of stairs, or run a long distance, and Mister Graves petted his bare ass, squeezing gently.

“Not exactly. Unless you want me to spank you? You’re in the prime spot… I need to be able to kneel behind you, so i can properly put my mouth on your tight little hole.”

Credence squeaked when the man’s hand lifted up and came back down with a smack, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to take him by surprise.

“You’re going to put your mouth on  _ my ass _ ?”

Mister Graves looked positively wicked, and he wondered if that sort of thing could be bought for twenty dollars, or if it was more.

“Yes. Now, hold on to the other side, the edge in front of you.”

The man slid off the desk out from under him, leaving Credence with nothing to rut his cock against, except when the head rubbed against the cool wood of the underside, and he was then worried about leaking onto the man’s office carpet.

“Good boy.”   
He remained there, lying flat on the man’s desk, tingling with anticipation and shaking slightly from cold and arousal, but nearly cried out at the first touch of Mister Graves’ mouth against him. The man was indeed kneeling behind him, with both hands gripping his thighs easily, almost able to span around them if pressed together, and he shuddered when he felt the man’s tongue swipe down against the sensitive skin of his sack, only to go back up again, between the curve of his asscheeks.

“Oh my god.”

He panted for breath, resting his cheek on his arm, and squeezed the edge of the desk, desperate to ground himself, sure if there had been any contact to his cock, he’d have already come.

When Mister Graves hummed against him, and there was a wet press  _ into _ him, he knew it had to be one of the man’s hands, fingers opening him up, as his hole fluttered around the foreign intrusion, the man’s fingers curled deeper, hitting somewhere inside of him that made his back arch, begging for more without words, and his vision whited out, he could feel his orgasm,  _ almost there, _ so close.

_ Oh. _

A hand stroked over his cock, hard and fast, a calloused thumb rubbed against the slit, and Credence was coming so hard his grip on the desk hurt, but it hurt so good, as Mister Graves murmured praises behind him, kissing at the base of his spine, before getting to his feet, withdrawing his fingers, and helping him turn over, so that he was resting properly on his back atop the desk, his softening cock lying spent against his thigh.

“Mister Graves… that was… I can’t…  _ move _ .”

“I know my boy. That’s how it should always feel.”

“When I’m with you.”

Credence was rambling now, mindless, lost in a haze of afterglow, and he didn’t notice how the man smiled, but he heard what he said next.

“Yes, love.”

 

* * *

 

Percival was going to pop the question, somehow, to ask Barebone, ahem, Credence, over to his place for dinner, mainly so that he could finally have enough time to do  _ everything _ he wanted to. Getting the boy cleaned up and sent back with his signature on the art boards, after having eaten him out over his desk, was a bit tricky. He suspected that Sera knew exactly what was going on, but she’d been tight lipped as ever. He hoped his father was treating her well.

Tina and Newt were inseparable and disgustingly sappy as ever, so he made sure to avoid them as much as possible, but usually that lead to running into Credence, and he couldn’t help smiling when he saw the boy. But that shattered his perfect stern boss image, so he tried not to do  _ that _ too much either. Until it was fucking Valentine’s day, and he realized that there would be no better time than that to ask his dear, sweet, lovely Credence over to his apartment, built to snag even the most resistant ladies. So they said.

The fact was, it was a bachelor pad, for two. With a king bed and a clawfoot tub that could easily hold two people, being home alone was more depressing than working for Percival, so he tended to overwork himself. Not since Credence had started at the agency, not at all. He wanted to be well rested, and always immaculate to best go about impressing the boy.

He was actually humming to himself as he walked into work, and he probably gave Sera a heart attack.

“‘ _ Call you irresponsible?’ _ Every day of the week, gladly.”

She took his hat and coat and winked at him, even though she didn’t smile, he knew she must have plans for the night with an attitude like that.

“What’s on my schedule for today?”

“Nestle called, they want to know if you can pass along an updated logo by lunch.”

“Tell them to send a messenger at noon, and consider it done.”

Newt was useless, probably being manhandled by Tina somewhere, so Credence ended up with the assignment, trailed by the utter nitwit that was Langdon Shaw, just serving as support for anything Percival said, as he was a known asskisser.

The lucky thing was, all that mattered to him was Credence’s input, everything else went in one ear and fell out the other.

“Thank you Shaw, that’s all I’ll be needing.”

It meant he had a few scant seconds to ask Credence the important question, but he kept the office door ajar, so he wouldn’t be tempted to try and sneak a few kisses before the messenger arrived.

“Mister Graves, sir, you had a question?”

Credence had tied his hair back that day, borrowing one of Queenie or Tina’s ribbons Percival supposed, a blood red one, clearly themed for the day, and he’d shaved closely, leaving a baby faced appearance and his pouty naturally pink lips, altogether, an attractive picture bent on torturing him.

“Yes. I wondered if you had plans this evening?”

“No sir. I cannot say that I do.”

The blink-blink of wide eyed innocence suited Credence well, and Percival internally cheered to know that he would be the cause for such a look to be properly removed once and for all.

“Well, now you do. Consider my name on your uh, dance card.”

He winked, and Credence’s cheeks flushed almost to match the ribbon in his hair.

“Mister Graves, I don’t know what to say…”

“Yes, for a start.”

Credence swallowed thickly, delicate throat bobbing, and making Percival want very much to push him to his knees, and give him something to swallow around proper, but he couldn’t, not yet.

“Please sir. Thank you.”

God, the urge to touch him was unbearable.

Percival satiated himself by letting a hand graze over top of Credence’s wrist when he reached onto his desk to drop off the designs, and he was content to see how it made the boy shiver, and smile sweetly to himself, dropping his gaze.

“Seven, on the dot, there will be a taxi at your place to bring you to mine. All right?”

Credence nodded again, and smiled a bit wider,

“I can’t wait.”

“Me either.”

 

From then on, the day dragged, all the way up until it was a quarter until six, and Percival was leaving, on time, but at what seemed an early hour for Sera, as she was packing up just as he swung his office door closed from the outside, and reached for his coat and hat.

“Sir, this is unusual.”

“Yes, quite. Starting a new trend. Less overtime for myself.”

“Good idea. Have a good night, Mister Graves.”

“You do the same Sera.”

He didn’t continue with what he wanted to, which was  _ ‘Tell my father I said hello.’ _

They were all bending rules those days, no point rubbing it in.

He didn’t quite fly home as run, and when he got inside his apartment he barely had a moment to catch his breath before he was ordering food up, demanding it arrive promptly at seven thirty, which was likely just before Credence would show up. Changing from his usual boring work suit into something finer yet more comfortable for the, well, date, was a no brainer. The only question was, how on earth could he give Credence his valentine’s day gift before dinner and remain focused on eating, when all he would want to do was have his boy for dessert?

The doorbell rang, startling him half to death, and he saw it was only a quarter after seven, so he wasn’t quite sure if the caterer was early, or Credence was  _ really _ early.

As it turned out, it was the latter.

He couldn’t help the grin that split across his face when he saw him, and the second they were safely inside the entryway, the front door swinging closed, he was pulled into a frantic embrace.

“Been wanting to kiss you all day, fuck.”

Credence muttered, sounding out of breath.

“What’s that baby?”

“Shut up.”

The kiss was surprising in its intensity, and Percival wondered if his boy had been holding back for the entire time he had known him, until there was a slim body clinging to him, demanding his attention to hold him close, and hands fumbling to undo the buttons of his vest and shirt.

“Whoa now, what about dinner?”

“Want you, now.”

“Credence, dear boy, you astonish me.”

“I haven’t touched myself in three days, was hoping you’d ask me out. And you did. Finally.”

“Oh god.”

Percival could already feel Credence was hard against his stomach, as he clung to him, and kissed and licked at his neck and the junction of his collarbone, having already shoved his shirt off partway.

“Bed, I think.”

The food would just have to wait.

Walking them both to the bedroom, Percival did his best to kick the door shut, and keep from dropping Credence, at least until he was close enough to the bed to do so, making the boy giggle as he bounced onto the blankets.

“I can’t believe you got me into bed on our first date.”

Credence teased, watching as Percival shrugged out of his shirt completely, and kicked off his shoes.

“I think this is just a formality. We’ve basically been dating for several weeks now.”

Credence quirked a brow and pursed his lips,

“Does that mean you’re going to fuck me tonight?”

“I hope so.”

Percival didn’t quite pounce once he’d gotten down to his boxers, but almost, and his hands went to finish undressing Credence, one palm brushing right over the bulge in his trousers, making the boy gasp into the kiss, and arch into his touch, shuddering a moment later, fabric dampening with his release.

“God, why do you torture yourself for me?”

“It’s not just  _ for _ you. I wanted to wait.”

“Mmm, I love it.” He just barely caught himself from saying ‘you’ instead, and merely kissed down Credence’s jaw and neck, helping him out of his own shirt, and undoing the fastenings to his pants, secretly thrilling at the fact he was still hard despite his earlier desperate climax.

“How do you want me sir?”

Credence was smiling, somewhat dreamily, and Percival could almost feel his heart melting. If he hadn’t already known he was lost, over the moon for the boy, here was his confirmation of the fact.

“Right there, as you are. I want to look at you.”

Percival put his mouth to Credence’s stomach, feeling his muscles jump and his breathing catch, and he slowly hooked his thumbs into the waistband, tugging off his underwear and pants in one move, baring him completely to his gaze.

He had the things that were necessary for what would come next, but first, for the moment, he wanted to finish worshipping Credence’s body with his mouth, kissing and licking every inch of him, since they had no need to rush, and the night belonged to them.

By the time Credence was trembling, on the verge of another orgasm, Percival was rutting against the sheets, and needing to be inside him.

He’d worked up to three fingers inside Credence’s tight hole, aided by slick lubrication and careful attention from his lips and tongue, so that when he leaned back on his heels, staring down at the vision that his boy made, with his long dark hair spilling over his pillow, and his pale skin contrasting with the warm brown of the sheets beneath them.

“Okay?”

Credence just nodded, biting his lip, worrying it to a crimson shade not quite equal to his full body flush, nor as dark as the purplish head of his cock, drooling over his stomach, which Percival had patently ignored, in favor of trying to push him as close to the edge as possible without going over.

All hesitation was abandoned as he lined up his own cock and started to press in, where his fingers had just been, dragging whimpers and whines from the boy’s mouth without need for stifling. There was no one around to catch them, or to hear and be concerned.

“Mister Graves, please…”

“Call me Percival, it’s the least you could do for me love.”

Credence’s eyes widened, and as he wrapped his legs around Percival’s hips, forcing him in deeper, faster than he’d planned, he groaned aloud, and it sounded less like his name, and more like a wicked prayer.

“Yes, perfect, wonderful.”

He built up a slow and steady rhythm, going over the latest accounting report he’d had, in a futile attempt to stave off his own climax, but when Credence reached up and put a slim fingered hand to the back of his neck, pulling him down to kiss him, open mouthed and sloppy, he lost focus, and found himself on the verge of coming. In his final seconds of clarity, he slipped a hand between their sweaty bodies and wrapped it around Credence’s cock, feeling as his hot length pulsed against his fingers, and his boy panted out something that might have held his name, mingled with a curse or two.

White overwhelmed his vision, and he closed his eyes, resting his forehead against Credence’s as his orgasm washed through him, and he felt the slight form under him still trembling through aftershocks, milking his cock completely.

He collapsed onto his elbows, and pulled back just enough to free himself from the confines of Credence’s quivering hole, before falling onto his side, feeling a heady mix of bliss and exhaustion sap his remaining energy.

“My handsome ad man, you look thoroughly well fucked.”

Credence was saying, a hand stroking over his cheek, and Percival smiled, dazed, before turning to press a kiss to the boy’s palm.

“You’ve unmanned me, my love.”

There was no fear in saying it, it was the truth, and he meant it with every fiber of his being. Though he lacked the strength for the moment to retrieve the black velvet box in the other side of the bedside cabinet drawer, he had no doubt it would give Credence pause. He was rather hoping for a  _ ‘yes.’ _

 

* * *

 

Their light dozing was only interrupted by the sound of a knock on the door, from what seemed like very far away, and Credence stirred first, before he noticed that Mister Graves had wrapped a strong arm around his waist, and was holding him flush to his front.

“Someone is at the door, I think.”

“Oh fuck. It’s dinner.”

Mister Graves mumbled, lips pressed to Credence’s back, right between his shoulder blades, making a shiver run down his spine.

“Oh. Should we answer?”

“I should yes, I ordered it. You got here very early. They’re late. I suppose better late than never.”

Mister Graves huffed a sigh, and then pulled away to climb out of bed, giving Credence a wondrous view of his bare ass and muscled back, before slipping into a dress robe lying on the end of the bed.

“I’ll just wait here then.”

Credence said, mainly to himself, as the man had long since ambled out of the room, and was shuffling down the hall.

He sat up and looked around the room proper, now that he wasn’t being distracted so much with Mister Graves and things of a carnal nature. It was decorated with red and brown, and hints of gold and navy trimmings. The furniture was sparse, but then again, he supposed all the man did in the room was sleep and occasionally entertain. He blushed at the thought, wondering how often the man did exactly that. Considering how many times they’d fooled around in his office, maybe not as much as he would have thought before.

He reached over to press the bedside cabinet drawer closed, so he wouldn’t bump his hip into it upon climbing out of the bed on his side, when he noticed a little box in the left corner. Curiosity got the better of him and the next thing he knew he was holding it in his palm, and prying it open. 

It snapped completely open after he got it part way, and his jaw dropped at the sight of a gleaming silver band, with five small diamonds inlaid in the middle. It was stunning, and clearly meant for a woman, judging by the size. He felt like he’d been stabbed in the chest, so sudden was the blow to his emotions. Mister Graves had someone else in his life, and was fond enough of her to buy an incredible piece of jewelry.

The tears that sprung to his eyes were blinding, and hot, scorching their way down his cheeks. He wiped them away with a ferocity that surprised even him, and fairly jumped out of the bed, moving to get dressed as quickly as possible, prepared to walk, not run out of the man’s apartment.

Unfortunately he tripped halfway through putting on his other sock, and Mister Graves appeared in the doorway before he could even try to go through with his plan.

“Hey, hey, what’s the rush? We can eat in our underwear.”

Credence hissed out a breath,

“I don’t think I want to, Mister Graves.”

“You’re not hungry?”

The man was frowning at him, and toying with the tie of his robe.

“No. I don’t want to take up any more of your time. I’m sure you’ve got more people to entertain tonight.”

“Excuse me?”

The man’s tone rapidly changed from concerned to more of a ‘ _ Graves’  _ work disapproving one, and Credence tried to ignore the way it made his cock twitch.

“Look, I saw the ring okay? I know you’ve got someone else. It’s fine, I just wish you hadn’t made me think I was the only person you were involved with, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, a man like you mmph-”   
Mister Graves had surged forward and pulled him in for a kiss that shocked him as well as silenced him, and he could feel the man’s heart beating rapidly through the fabric of his robe. He broke away to pin Credence with a stare that was far from cold and detached, like he’d been trying to be.

“Credence, my  _ love _ . You shouldn’t go snooping. You’ll get the wrong idea. Dear boy, that ring is for  _ you _ . You just took the wind out of my proposal.”

The man chuckled somewhat dryly, and Credence felt his own heart skip a beat, or two.

“What?” he fairly squeaked.

Mister Graves’ hand was firm and warm against his cheek, and he couldn’t help leaning into the touch,

“I was going to ask if you would uh, consider being  _ mine _ , after dinner. I know we can’t formally be wed here, perhaps we’ll have to run off to Vegas some weekend, but, still. It’s the thought that counts, as well as the ring, hmm?”

Credence gulped, and he saw the man’s eyes drop to his mouth, seconds before he licked his own lips.

“But what can I give you, as a, a token of my affections?”

Mister Graves smiled,

“It’s enough for me to be able to see you wearing  _ my _ ring.”

“Oh.”

His stomach gave a little flutter at the idea of being able to wear such a thing, and say that yes, he was married, he was loved, he was  _ taken _ .

“So, what do you say?”

Credence blinked, and he realized Mister Graves’ hand had left his cheek, and was now bracing over his own hand, as the man knelt before him.

His eyes stung with tears again, but that time, it was for an entirely different reason.

“Yes, yes, I’d love to marry you.”

Mister Graves’ smile could have outshone the sun, and he fairly jumped to his feet to pull Credence into a tight embrace, before kissing him soundly on the cheek, and then deeply on the lips.

They were both out of breath in a few moments, before Credence’s stomach grumbled, and shattered the heated moment.

“Dinner, right, yes.”

By the time they’d finished eating, it was more appealing to return to bed than attempt to play cards or sit through a news program, so happily, Credence fell back into Mister Graves’ arms, and the next morning, when they parted ways, so that he could return home and the man could try to get some work done, he had a new weight on his left hand, and a reason to never stop smiling.

 

* * *

 

**_E N D_ **

 


End file.
